“We’re safe,” he said.
“Ye read my mind, Highlander.” Chuckling at his growl, she cupped a hand and drank. The sweetness of the hops, mixed with honey, exploded on her tongue. Swallowing, she sat upright, and sighed. “Hand me a carrot?”
“I wondered what this was. Moonlight turns everything silver, like your eyes.”
“Are ye trying to wax poetic?”
“No, it’s the truth.” He grabbed a carrot, chewed, and swallowed. “Tastes wonderful, probably because I’m starving.”
“Nay. Food in this time tastes much better than the food purchased in the marketplace back home. The storage cellar ‘tis cool and dark. We harvest carrots right up until the first snow.”
“You said ‘back home’. Do you feel you belong back in the future?” He filled a cupped hand with ale, and drank. Ale dribbled down his chin darkened by the shadow of a beard.
She sensed the hesitation behind his words, and though he did not add ‘with me’, she assumed the words hovered unsaid. Had her slip of the tongue given him false hope? Or, did she want to return to New England?
Biting into another carrot, the crunchy sweetness made her sigh with pleasure. How could she answer him when she had no idea what she ought to do? She chewed and swallowed. Nothing tasted as good.
Liar.
Bull’s kisses had awakened the woman in her, a woman she had locked away after Gavin had broken her heart.
“We shall find a way to return ye to yer home, Bull.” Best not to mention her own plans, whatever she might decide.
“I’m not leaving without Jenny!”
Jenny?
She had forgotten about her friend. Bull had not. Were his feelings for Jenny Morgan stronger than his feelings for Izzy? Did she care? “I need sleep. We shall continue this discussion at dawn.”
Bull sighed, loosened his belt, and unwrapped his plaid. When he moved closer to her makeshift bed, she stiffened.
“Relax. It’s getting cold.” He threw the plaid over their bodies, and pulled her into his chest.
Trusting him not to demand they make love, she took a chance. Nestling into his embrace, a contented sigh bubbled up. A moment later, it seemed, morning broke. He shook her awake. Instead of silver moonlight, sun streamed through the holes in the roof. Several chickens clucked below.
“Stay here. I’ll check out the rest of the farm. No sense both of us getting killed.”
Her throat closed, as fear pulled her from the memory of her dream. The images seemed so real, her heart still fluttered.
Surrounded by mist, a naked Bull peppered her breasts with warm wet kisses, until she mewed like a kitten with a full belly. His mouth, soft as gossamer wings, kissed its way down over her stomach and nestled between her legs.
She spread her thighs, as if angels had commanded her to open to their heavenly warrior. A finger, as soft as goose down, stroked the sensitive nub hidden beneath her springy curls. When he leaned in and captured the pulsing pleasure point between his lips, her heart lurched and her hips quivered. Unseen hands bent her knees and lifted her bottom. This was what she desired. She yearned to get closer to that mouth whose heated breath stroked her higher, toward bliss. Rising toward a pinnacle that promised release, blood pounded in her ears.
She forgot to breathe.
The dream wavered, and changed. The heavenly mouth was gone. She cursed the heavens, until a large hand shoved her to her side, and a muscular chest settled behind her. The hard length of his manhood burned like hot cinders, nestled between her cleft cheeks. His large hand grabbed her leg, then tossed it over his muscular thigh. A wisp of cool air teased the petals of her sex, a moment before his red-hot length plunged deep. The urge to scream morphed into the sudden desire to reach behind and tug at his princely jewels.
Izzy laughed, inside her dream. She could imagine his howl, but something reminded her to keep quiet. As his pace increased, sparkles exploded behind her eyes, and his strangled grunts turned into birdsong. Her toes curled and her body tensed, until she broke like a wave upon the beach.
It was a dream, correct?
***
Making love to Izzy without properly waking her, was lower than low. She was so beautiful, even while asleep. When he touched her, and she smiled without opening her eyes, as if trusting him even while asleep, he was a goner. He’d kissed his way from her cheek to her sex, pulling aside her clothing as gently as humanly possible. She responded with gentle moans, and sighs, reminding him of a contented kitten discovering an errant sunbeam.
He had raised her skirt, and licked her damp folds, until her muscles tensed, and her breaths grew short and raspy. He’d stroked her tiny pleasure nub, and sensed her orgasm gathering, but Bull wanted to fill her warm, wet channel with his aching, hard-as-steel erection.
Rolling her to her side, without waking her, was a time-consuming ordeal. In the dark silence of the loft, every move caused the floorboards to creak. When he managed to turn her, pull her leg up, and place it on his naked thigh, he had guided his erection inside her channel.
Keeping perfectly still, while his body throbbed, the urge to pull out, then slide back inside, was powerful. However, he didn’t want to wake her. How would he explain his animal need? He behaved like a beast. They’d never used a condom. He’d never even considered the ramifications. The possibility of disease or pregnancy, never crossed his mind.
What is wrong with me?
Thinking about it almost made him go limp. When she moaned, then wiggled her hips, his engorged flesh grew harder and longer. He moved forward, then retreated.
She laughed in her sleep, and her hand loosely swept toward his balls. Capturing her hand in his, he increased his strokes in strength, and depth. A howl built in his throat, ready to echo off the rafters, but he fought it back. He silenced the ensuing series of uncontrollable grunts, by burying his face in the satiny-smooth skin beneath her ear.
Gentle constrictions of her inner muscles signaled her orgasm. It shattered him with its gentle waves. She barely cried out, but the tiny mewing made him explode. After his heart rate returned to a normal rhythm, and he caught his breath, he slipped free.
He had straightened her clothing, then settled his plaid around his waist. Too bad that relaxing in a hayloft in the middle of early seventeenth-century Scotland, beside a woman he was destined to leave, drove all pleasure away.
“Is it morning?” Izzy asked. She stretched like a cat, and looked sweeter than the wildcat Niall had called her.
“Yes, I was going to look around. Stay here, until I have a chance to make sure we’re alone.”
A soft whinny, and a muffled snuffling, was followed by a chomping sound.
“Someone, or something, is below,” Izzy whispered.
Placing a finger to his mouth to keep her quiet, he glanced over the edge of the hayloft. Seeing nothing, Bull eased down the ladder without waiting for her to argue. Shadows drifted across the walls, near one of the stalls. Creeping toward the open gate, he wished he had grabbed a weapon.
“Doona’ forget this, my Highlander.”
Bull glanced up into Izzy’s smiling face.
She passed him the sword.
He nodded.
The swish of a tail, and a familiar whinny, made him stand and enter the stall.
“Balfour?”
“Truly? ‘Tis yer old beast?”
Balfour reared, Bull jumped, and backed into Izzy. With soothing words and gentle pats, the animal calmed. When he returned to munching on hay, Bull faced her.
“I thought I told you to stay put.”
She smiled, but said nothing. Patting the animal’s rump, Izzy nodded. “I dinna’ want ye to face any danger alone.”
“Still a stupid idea. Luckily, Balfour found his way here.”
“Do ye think he followed us?”
“It’s possible, but I think he was just hungry, and this is the largest pile of edible hay in the county, I assume.”
“Aye, ‘tis no other farm w
ithin shouting distance.”
“Speaking of that, keep your voice down.” Bull inched closer and ran his hand over the wound on Balfour’s shoulder. It looked deep, but the bleeding had stopped.
“Is yer beast fine?”
“He’ll have a wicked scar.” Just like me, old fella. “Stay here. I mean it.”
Izzy stuck her tongue out at him, but didn’t follow.
Leaving Balfour and Izzy, he strode to the closed barn doors, then crouched. Peering through a rotted knothole, nothing moved but some chickens, and a few Highland cows.
A herd of the hairy, orange cattle had gathered under a window at the back of the cottage. Two half-grown calves suckled, while their mothers nibbled on what he guessed, were flowers.
Izzy won’t be happy about that.
Roses, or something red and pretty, were disappearing fast. Nothing else stirred.
He retraced his steps, exiting through the side door they had entered during the predawn hours. With his back to the wall, and the sword at the ready, he scouted the area.
Still crouched, he picked up a rock and flicked it against the cottage’s back wall. The noise scattered the cows, and they lumbered off into the meadow, through an open gate.
Problem solved.
Why was he concerned with saving a bunch of silly flowers? He should be scouting for enemies, and figuring out how to get back to his life in New England. He should return to his dull job teaching rich brats, and to his empty apartment. He enjoyed weekends dressing in Scottish attire, and tossing the caber or hammer, but those weekends were few and far between.
Isn’t there more to life?
Would Izzy return to the future with him? She lived in a cute, comfortable apartment, and had a job. The season for Highland Games was winding down, though. Also, if the boxes he’d lugged into her apartment weren’t salvageable, she and Dorcas were already out of business.
Someone torched their tent. He guessed the brownie was behind it. Rather, the brownie did the deed, but a Sinclair paid him to do it.
Nothing I can do about that.
Glancing around at the garden, barn, and cottage, he assumed her life was here, but it wasn’t a safe environment. The relative she had asked to look after the place, was missing. Hadn’t Izzy admitted that she had hired on with that old witch Dorcas Swann to catch a ride out of here?
Gavin and his father, and maybe even Niall, were not her friends. Her land was valuable to them. Was she as valuable, or simply part of the deal? Was the older laird’s attempt to rape her simply his way of acquiring her property? Text books didn’t go into all this. Women’s rights, or lack thereof, in 1603 Scotland, were a mystery to him.
Gavin said they were betrothed, yet she insisted they were not. If they married, Bull assumed all her property would become his. As this farm sat along the Sinclair border, this would also enlarge the Sinclair laird’s holdings. If he had raped her, could he have demanded they marry? Someday, once this was all over, he’d ask Izzy.
If she’s still talking to me.
Listening for voices, he watched for any other movement besides cows shuffling through the garden. Someone had left the gate open. Izzy’s caretaker would not have been so careless. Where was he? His biggest concern…had others remained? When another group of orange cows meandered between him and the cottage, he snuck along with them. Reaching the cottage wall, he walked slowly toward the front. All was quiet. He scanned the area leading away from the cottage’s small porch, and spied a well-traveled road. Pulled by a team of large workhorses, with barrels overflowing with big, red apples, a farm wagon lumbered past.
His stomach growled. If he didn’t get some real food, and soon, he’d faint. Maybe her missing caretaker left some edible treats inside.
Lowering his sword, he stepped quietly toward the front door. It stood open, and his inner warning system shouted for him to take care. Sunlight streaked through tiny windows, spearing shadows like bolts of lightning. They shimmered, making it hard to tell if the space was empty, or not. He slipped inside, and raised his sword.
I wish I had a gun.
Swordplay was not his forte. His only comfort was knowing no one else owned a gun.
“Bull…ye in here?” Izzy said, from the doorway.
“Izzy? What part of stay put don’t you understand?” Bull grabbed her hand, and pulled her into a dark corner.
“I doona’ answer to ye. ‘Tis my future we be dealing with,” she whispered.
He stifled his retort. Staying quiet, until he made sure the cottage was empty, meant he would keep them both alive for a few minutes longer. Squinting at shapes in the farthest corner, he finally relaxed.
“We’re alone,” he said.
Izzy nestled against him, and her touch filled him with anguish. Leaving her behind was looking more and more like a possibility. Her home appeared in good shape. She had no reason not to resume her life, care for her animals, and forget all about him. He leaned forward, and brushed a kiss on her lips, as his way of saying good-bye.
“Surprise!”
Izzy jumped, and Bull raised his sword. The high-pitched voice echoed through the small building. Advancing toward the intruder, he shoved Izzy between him and the wall.
“Show yourself!”
A bright light blinded him. His only thought was to wave his sword in front of him, grab Izzy’s wrist, and retreat outside. If the intruder’s reinforcements waited outside the cottage, he would deal with them, also.
“Stay,” said the voice, “I insist.”
The door slammed closed before they could make it to freedom. Bull kept his sword raised, as he sought the owner of the voice. Shadows danced, but he couldn’t make out who had threatened them.
Thinking of his friend, Jake, as well as the rugged Highlanders they’d met when they descended on Castle Ruadh, he tried to visualize how they might act in this situation. Bravado was called for.
“Show yourself and state your business,” Bull ordered. He hoped he spoke toward the correct shadow.
“Calm yerself, Highlander. I am on yer side. Dinna’ Isobel tell ye?”
“Jaden-Tog?” Izzy pushed Bull aside, or tried to.
Sweeping an arm out to stop her, Bull lowered the sword, then crossed to the door. When he opened it wide, light entered the room and bathed the funny little man in sunlight. Jaden-Tog was a curious little creature, but he had the power to send him home. He showed up at the glade before the battle. Once the mounted warriors attacked them, Bull lost sight of the brownie. Was he really on their side, or a spy for the Sinclair laird?
“Ye still have no’ proved yerself to me, Jaden-Tog. I could have used yer help when The Sinclair tried to have his way with me during the battle,” Izzy said.
“He did? The bastard. The laird is a vicious cur, as I learned too late.” The little man sighed, but Bull wasn’t swayed.
“Is there anyone else around?” Bull asked. If the brownie arrived here before them, he might have seen something.
“Nay. The cows are verra’ upset, and said their caretaker up and disappeared one night.”
“They told you?” Bull asked.
Izzy chuckled. “Brownies are verra’ powerful. Did I not tell ye this?”
“As is yer cousin, Rae,” the brownie said.
Izzy stared at the little man. Was the creature making up stories to scare her?
“What do ye mean? Rae Wilson is a farmer. He’s a bit older than me, and we grew up together. He is no’ like ye.”
“He talks to animals, like I do. Yer own cows told me.”
Bull laughed so hard, Izzy jumped. “Sorry, sweetheart, but your little friend is filling your head with lies. No one can talk to animals.”
When Bull placed a hand on her shoulder, Izzy pushed him away.
He looked at her. “You believe him?”
“Bull, ye have been thrown through time on more than one occasion, if I have the right of it?”
He nodded.
“Ye said ye detest witches.
Witches and sorcerers use magic. There are many unexplainable creatures in my world.”
“I met one of your water lizards. It tried to eat me.”
Izzy drew closer, capturing his face in her soft hands. Her fragrance filled him. She was intoxicating, even after a night spent in a hayloft. The urge to taste her sweetness nearly made him forget the danger that surrounded them.
“How did ye survive?” Izzy whispered.
“Well, Skye said some words, used her hands, and--”
“She used her magic to save ye?” Izzy’s smile brightened the small room.
When Bull groaned, Jaden-Tog chuckled. Bull’s cheeks heated.
The room really is too small.
“Magic is all around ye, Highlander. Accept this, and ye might live through the day.” Jaden-Tog bowed, handed her a folded piece of yellowed paper, then slipped outside.
“Where the blazes is he going?” The little man could be his ticket home. Why was she letting him walk away? Bull crept to the door, and gazed outside. Fearing an attack, he listened.
“He will no’ leave us, even if danger lurks. He told us he was our ally, no’ our enemy.”
Bull inhaled several breaths to cool his temper. Things could deteriorate in seconds. They needed to make a plan, follow it, and then he could go home. Saving Izzy’s cousin, if he actually needed saving, was the first step.
“What did he give you?”
“ ‘Tis a map.”
He returned to where she stood by a small window. “Izzy, have you any idea where your cousin is? Is there a place he would go, or hide, if attacked?”
“I fear he wouldna’ leave the animals. Besides, the cows claim he disappeared.”
“Right. The cows, who talked to the brownie.”
“If The Sinclair took him, he is either dead, or being kept in his castle. Tulac Castle.”
“Where they held you? Is it well fortified?”
“I canna’ say. I escaped with relative ease. Perhaps they be more diligent on keeping folks out. I could hear someone moan from a nearby cell, but I am surprised The Sinclair dinna’ confess that he had my cousin.”
My Lady Highlande Page 20